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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496943">with my hand upon thy head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline'>TomBowline</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>composing unity [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Collars, Dry Humping, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Captain Francis Crozier, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Shame Edward Little Power Hour, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, edward just wants to be Good, in like a tender way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:20:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis and Edward try something new.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier/Lt Edward Little, Captain Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little (offscreen)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>composing unity [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>with my hand upon thy head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fill for <a href="https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=295308">this kinkmeme prompt</a> because it just screamed Edward/Francis to me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late-afternoon sunlight was streaming through the high windows of the drawing room when Edward stepped through the open doorway and into Francis’ line of sight.</p><p>Francis, absorbed by a preposterous opinion piece in the periodical he was reading, had not immediately registered the other man’s presence. He did take notice, however, around the time Edward made his way over to Francis’ armchair and sat down in a heap at his feet. He rested his head on one of Francis’ knees and looked up at him mutely, beseechingly. At his throat, bared by undone buttons, Francis spotted the dull shine of new leather. <em> Ah</em>.</p><p>Francis cast his paper aside onto the end table and stared back at Edward, feeling a smile start to curl about his mouth. They had agreed upon the day beforehand, but left the precise time to be decided as the moment took them. This, it seemed, was that time.</p><p> </p><p>They had happened upon it one afternoon some weeks ago, the three of them strewn variously about this very room and going about the light work of the day in companionable silence. Francis had remarked to the household at large that he might like to have another dog someday, and Thomas had remarked in turn that if Edward did not shave his whiskers very soon he could play the part convincingly enough. Francis had not missed the fierce flush that rose on Edward’s cheeks, but had decided to file it away for later - Thomas was equally attuned, and less forbearing: had inquired slyly if he might like that, being Francis’ pet. Edward had floundered and sputtered for several moments before Francis took pity: Edward had always been so loyal, hadn’t he, and it was natural to want recognition for his loyalty, to wish for such a simple way to be good for Francis. That was it, wasn’t it? Edward nodded helplessly and with a look exchanged Francis and Thomas decided to leave further probing for a later date.</p><p>Over several later dates, they arrived at some particulars. The collar had been Francis’ idea, tentatively broached on his part and immediately agreed to on Edward’s (and later procured, like every other beautiful thing in their household, by Thomas, despite his lack of active interest in this particular fancy). It was wrought of leather that was possibly finer than they could strictly afford, soft and yielding, and still had the heady smell of fresh hide and pigment hanging about it. They agreed also upon names (<em>pet</em> and <em>pup</em> were preferred; <em>good</em> <em>boy</em> was nice too; <em>Edward</em> was fine if need be; <em>Ned</em> did not suit on this occasion), upon the general attitude Edward wanted from Francis (less purely dominant than when Thomas would take charge of them, more kindly, but still firm), and upon wordlessness from Edward except to call a halt (this did not, however, dictate silence). They set a date, and let it lie with a quiet anticipation. </p><p> </p><p>So now they were here - Edward on the floor at Francis’ feet, Francis looking down at Edward and his open eager face and his collar. The collar that marked him as Francis’, Francis’ pet, Francis’ to care for and keep, and oh, he could feel a low flame spring up in his belly at that.</p><p>Francis reached out and pushed his hand into Edward’s hair, stroking, testing. Immediately a low groan bubbled up from Edward’s throat - Francis could feel it vibrate through the side of his leg - and his eyes slid shut. “Hello, pup,” Francis murmured. Another moan - closer to a whimper now. Yes, that was it. Francis let his legs fall open and began to tug Edward’s head gently but firmly toward his groin - then his eyes landed again on the collar and he thought better of it. He got his hand under Edward’s chin and tipped his head upwards, baring the supple strip of leather to Francis’ keen gaze. It was dark and warm in tone, of a shade with Edward’s hair in the late light, and a silvery ring rested in the center - where a lead would be hooked, Francis supposed (and there was an idea that bore further contemplation). As it was it seemed a perfect size for Francis to curl his index finger around and tug. </p><p>Edward came easily, propelled unsteadily toward Francis with his throat still bared - in deference, in invitation. It was an offer too lovely for Francis to refuse. He sat forward in the chair until he was nosing at the corner of Edward’s jaw, in that sweet triangle of skin and stubble between whiskers and collar, and took a long moment to feel the thudding of Edward’s pulse and the heat of his skin against his lips before he bit down sharp and swift. The effects of this bite were immediate, Edward's sweet shuddering gasps sliding into whines as Francis laved soothingly over the spot with his tongue. His prick was often slow to rise, but this singular combination of flavor (Edward’s skin, damp with sweat and hinting at shaving soap), sensation (Edward’s stubble rasping, his finger hooked in Edward’s collar), and sound (Edward keening and moaning until his breath was spent, then drawing another) was enough to make it twitch to life already.</p><p>When Francis pulled away and sat back he surveyed the angry red spot on Edward’s neck with a flare of satisfied heat. (A thought was spared to hope it would not bruise, for propriety’s sake, but it was not lingered on - of the three of them, Edward left the house even less often than Francis.) His pup was restless now, making to shift downwards. Francis held him fast by the silver ring: “Is there something you’d like, pet?” The question had all the sound of an indulgent, rhetorical query. “Would you like a treat?” He inched his legs open wider, canted his hips out slightly.</p><p>Edward whined, wet his lips. Nodded.</p><p>“Yes, alright.” Francis’ tone was gruff, but his grip on the ring as he guided Edward down was gentle. “You’ve been so good for me, you should have a treat.”</p><p>Edward buried his face into the folds of Francis’ trousers, nosing along the length of him. The warm damp of his breath, even through wool, was almost too distracting for Francis; he had to take a breath through his nose and collect himself before moving to undo his flies. As he did so, he sank his hand into Edward’s hair and held him fast a few scant inches from where he was now pulling himself out. Edward’s mouth dropped open automatically, obediently, and he looked between Francis’ ruddy prick and Francis’ ruddy face with something like desperation. </p><p>Francis pumped himself once to unsheathe the head, holding the base steady and letting his hard length bob in front of Edward’s face. “Shall I feed it to you, now?” he asked innocently. “Your treat?” Edward’s gaze flicked down, abashed, but he nodded firmly and gave a clipped whine. <em> Please</em>.</p><p>Francis moved Edward forward slowly with the hand still gripping his hair. The head left a gleaming trail as it traced Edward’s lips for one moment. Two. Three. Then his tongue came out to meet it and the fire in Francis’ belly roared with a kerosene flare. It was all he could do not to thrust into Edward’s mouth, but no - Edward was his to care for, and he must treat him gently. He pressed again at the back of Edward’s head, but his pet needed no further encouragement - his mouth was soft and moaning already as he took Francis further in. When Francis could feel the back of Edward’s throat twitching against the head of his cock, Edward pulled back and turned to licks and kisses up and down the length of him. Edward was not using his hands to any advantage, committed to his role as he was, and so Francis moved his steadying hand further up his own cock so Edward could gain purchase. </p><p>For minutes or hours Francis was lavished with such ecstasies as these - Edward would lap at the prick before him one moment, then take it into his throat the next, then dip down to nose at the base and lave the heavy stones below. He was breathing heavily, every other breath a muffled whine, and his mouth was soaked by now with spit and fluid that dripped down onto his chin and smeared in his whiskers. Confronted with the sight of Edward pulling off the dripping head of Francis’ cock to lick his own lips clean, Francis felt his pleasure drive sharply up from the comfortable plateau he had reached into an undeniable urgency. He gripped his pup by the hair again, bringing him back onto his prick with stroking pulls. Edward dropped his jaw and looked at Francis, pleading again. <em> Yes</em>. <em> Perfect</em>. “Good boy, Edward, such a good pup for me,” Francis sighed as he guided himself in and began to thrust. </p><p>It could not have been more than five times he drove himself into the soft soaking cave of Edward’s mouth before he felt the fire inside roar through him with abandon as he began to spend. It was all he could do to draw himself out enough that he could watch the pump of his seed paint Edward’s lips, the tip of his tongue, his already-dripping chin. Another marking, another claim. His to keep.</p><p>Before him Edward stuck out his tongue to swipe up all he could from his face and swallow it down - this earned him another hoarse “good boy” from Francis - then gave his cockhead a final lick to clean him of what remained. This done, Francis’ pet tucked his face into the crease between Francis’ thigh and groin, breathed deeply and sighed in contentment as he gave a hopeful rub of his hard prick against Francis’ right leg. Then another. Without direction to do so.</p><p>Feeling easy now, unspooled and unhurried, Francis peered down at Edward and stopped him with a tut and a press of his booted foot to the straining front of Edward’s trousers. “You may have my boot or my leg. Which would you like?”</p><p>Edward pawed at Francis’ leg and whined small and high in the back of his throat. “Very well,” Francis smiled, replacing his foot on the floor and bracing slightly to make an unyielding pillar of pressure for Edward to rub against. Immediately Edward complied, clutching Francis’ leg with clumsy hands as he began to roll his hips desperately, his face blazing hot and tucked back down into the crease of Francis’ thigh. Francis could feel the gusts of Edward’s breath on his skin, deep gasping inhalations that came out on ragged little whines and groans. He could feel his slack lips, his scruffy whiskers, the soft scrape of his teeth. It was incredibly diverting, to see this wild eager creature he could draw out of Edward with a few shifts in attitude and language. If Francis had not spent scant minutes ago, or perhaps if he were a much younger man, he fancied he would be hard again just from how keen, how unrefined, how very <em> much </em> Edward was becoming as he writhed against him. </p><p>As Edward continued to grind against his calf Francis raised his hand to tangle in Edward’s hair, petting and scratching lightly through the wild locks. “My good boy,” he murmured, “so good, so good for me. Always so good.” With this encouragement Edward’s hips jerked in a fevered rhythm twice more, then juddered to a halt as he spilled into his trousers on a broken groan. </p><p>Francis noted the bloom of wet warmth slowly making its way into his trouser-leg with the distant satisfaction that tended to come to him at the end of a passion. Edward was rubbing his face mindlessly into Francis’ wool-clad thigh as he recovered, seeming to savor Francis’ continued petting of his hair, until he had the presence of mind to raise his head.</p><p>“Thank you,” he murmured, apparently still half in a daze. “Thank you, thank you. That was wonderful.”</p><p>“Don’t thank me,” Francis returned in such a low voice as seemed to befit this occasion, soaked in waning sunlight and both well wrung-out. “I enjoyed it quite selfishly.”</p><p>Edward smiled at him, even as he began to swipe at his chin with a handkerchief - which Francis took from him swiftly to do the sweet work of scrubbing spit and seed from Edward’s face. “Have I pleased you, then?”</p><p>“It is difficult for you not to,” Francis pointed out, peering at a stubborn spot in Edward’s whiskers. Then he glanced up to meet a rather intense gaze and added more seriously, “Yes, Edward. Immensely. To distraction.”</p><p>Duly cleaned, Edward looked down at his groin and passed his fingers over it; groaned to feel the wetness seeping through his trousers. “Do you think Thomas will be cross?” </p><p>Francis tugged at his own stained trouser-leg and fixed Edward with an impish smile that spoke of several very pleasant evenings passed on the foundation of their lover being <em> cross </em> about Francis or Edward’s chronic mistreatment of wardrobe. “I think there is every chance he shall be very cross indeed.” </p><p>Edward said nothing to this, only gave a fond smile as he clambered to his feet. Francis stood to meet him with a hand clasped in Edward’s offered one, then reached both arms about his neck to unclasp the collar. This release drew one last grunt from Edward, part relief and part bereavement. There was a mark, Francis noted with interest, where the ring's fastening had pressed into his skin.</p><p>With his lips so close, Francis could not help but press them to his own. This kiss, the only one they’d shared in this encounter, was familiar and warm - wonderful - but without intent. Francis could still taste himself in Edward’s mouth, but the fire was quenched: Edward was his, precisely as much as he was Edward’s and they were both Thomas’s and so on and on. </p><p>“And you, Edward?” Francis kept one arm up to stroke the nape of Edward’s neck, but presented the rolled collar back to him in his other hand. “Are you pleased?”</p><p>Edward took the collar and slipped it into his pocket, no doubt to be set in pride of place somewhere in a night-table or wardrobe for another day. “Very much so,” he said, badly stifling a yawn on the last word. “And now,” he sighed, “I believe I would like you to take me to bed."</p><p>And so, though it was but a quarter of five, to bed they went.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have no idea if my use of "good boy" here is anachronistic (these really are the things I think about), so if you have any information on the history of what people called their dogs I would love to hear it. </p><p>Also, apologies for putting Jopson in the relationship and then not doing much of anything with him - I don't want to jinx myself, but there may be a sequel forthcoming at some point. I just love those three and I feel like their combined post-canon dynamic is more cheerful than Edward and Francis' would be alone.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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